


It's All Your Fault

by Azar443



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar443/pseuds/Azar443
Summary: “You have something on your face.” "I beg your pardon, sir?"





	It's All Your Fault

“You have something on your face.”

You blinked and stared at the distinguished figure of your boss in front of you, an amused smile quirking the corner of his lips. Frowning, you wondered if you had misheard what he said.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

Percival Graves smirked and said nothing, choosing instead to lean close to your reddening face. Unwittingly, you let out a gasp at his close proximity, which made his smirk seem to take on a predatory look. Slowly, far too slowly for your liking, he reached out and oh so gently wiped something away from your lips. You shuddered, seeing a hint of red on his finger where it had caught on your lipstick. The Director just smiled and showed you the bit of peanut butter from your breakfast that had apparently stayed on your lip throughout the day. Your gaze followed his hand as he nonchalantly brought his finger to his lips (sweet Merlin, that image would haunt your dreams for nights to come) and very delicately, as if he were feasting on the most succulent of delicacies, licked the peanut butter off of the digit, all the while his dark eyes never left yours. The man was torturing you, and he knew it, the smug bastard.

“Mr Graves!”

Percival immediately straightened and drew himself away from you. You cleared your throat and fixed your attention back on the mounds of paperwork stacked on your desk, but you could feel the heat curl up your neck and around the tips of your ears. If you had but looked up, you would have seen Percival shoot a small smile that looked almost fond towards you before turning to the Auror who had called for him. He walked off then, and you immediately sank into your chair, relieved, but not before you clumsily sent a paperweight to the floor. The loud crash the damned paperweight made reverberated throughout the entire office, and you groaned when every head, including that of Percival’s, swiveled towards your direction. Muttering a quick sorry, you ducked under your desk to retrieve the object, and to pretend that a hole had opened up to allow you to disappear.

* * *

You were a part of the Department of Magical Security of MACUSA, but you didn’t work there as an Auror. You had no shame in telling everyone that you were a clerk; the job didn’t sound glamorous, and it wasn’t as if you were risking your life each day as the Aurors did, but you were still proud that you were doing your bit in ensuring the peace of the wizarding world, one form at a time. Recently however, you were given a small promotion as Percival Graves’ personal secretary, something Madame Picquery was adamant he needed, and you agreed. The man was perhaps the busiest wizard (or perhaps human altogether) alive; the first time you took a glance at his schedule, you were stunned. Every hour of his day was occupied by meetings arranged back to back, briefings on missions and the latest threats to the wizarding community, reports that needed to be read over, the applications of new recruits, etcetera etcetera. It didn’t help that Mr Graves was the definition of a workaholic; if you looked up the word in a dictionary, it would most certainly show you a picture of Percival Graves. With such a busy boss who was the first to appear at the office and the last to leave, every day, you tried your best to help lighten his load ( _hah! You’d like to lighten his load, if you catch my drift_ ) by making sure he doesn’t have to deal with any menial tasks that would distract him from the more important duties. Keyword though, being _tried_.

Percival Graves was a very attractive man. _Very_. While he was at least 10 years older than you were, you appreciated the dignity of his dark hair peppered with a hint of grey at the edges. He’s kept a trim figure, and while he’s not the broadest or tallest man in the room, his body is all hard panes and well-defined muscles. _Not_ that you’ve ever felt his body before, well not intimately, at least. He had caught you once, when you tripped over yourself the first day as this secretary, his warm hands on your waist and you fisting the crisp white material of his shirt. You remember how your eyes were closed in anticipation for the hard fall, and yet all you felt was warmth. You slowly eased one eye open to see the amused face of your boss, and you sort of _whimpered_ before leaping away from him, only to knock into the edge of your desk which resulted in an unsightly bruise on your hip. Your face was as red as a tomato for the entire day, which did _not_ look attractive with your pale English skin. You were absolutely mortified at making a fool of yourself with him as your direct supervisor on day one. Certainly, you had met the man and spoken with him before, and you weren’t _that_ clumsy normally, but then you’ve never had to deal with being in such close proximity with him every day. Ever since that incident however, you were all the more conscious of his presence near you, around you, _everywhere_ and you couldn’t even hand him his daily cup of coffee without blushing like a school girl and stammering nervously when his fingers brushed yours. Percival wasn’t helping either; he _knew_ you were attracted to him, knew you were nervous around him because of that and well, the man was a tease. He wasn’t cruel to you or whatever, he just liked seeing you flustered because of _him_.

But it wasn’t all that bad, really. The whole experience of working with him was wonderful; he was extremely patient with you, despite the constant emphasis on the _grave_ part of his name by the gossips of the office, and he’s taught you so much about yourself that you’re feeling like a stronger, more confident person lately. You were still awkward around him of course, and you still knocked over objects whenever you hastened to escape his smouldering gaze but you gradually became more comfortable around him, even finding the courage the crack a joke or two with him. He was always kind enough to laugh genuinely, no matter how cringe-y your jokes were, which made you respect (and love) him all the bit more, because even though he has the reputation of being a stoic workaholic who had no personal life, you saw how much he cared for the people he worked with, and in his subtle way, always tried to make them feel more as though they mattered.

Just when you thought you had _finally_ gotten over your awkward phase around him, you managed to accidentally spill some hot coffee on his desk, which would have been disastrous had he not snatched his documents out of the way as you quickly found your balance. You apologised profusely, and there was a glimmer in his eyes and a twitch of his _very_ kissable lips that made him look younger and less tired, and you couldn’t help but smile shyly at him. He cleared his throat and waved your apologies away, and you as you left, still smiling, you could have sworn you saw a light dusting of a blush on his cheeks. You closed the door, secretly pleased that you weren’t the only one unaffected by the strange attraction that existed between the two of you, albeit one that was unacknowledged. For now.

* * *

Percival Graves sat in his office, thinking, which wasn’t something out of the ordinary. He was a man whose brain doesn’t stop ticking, always planning and counter-planning. The subject of his thoughts however, was something quite unusual. For the nth time since you were appointed as his personal secretary, he found himself preoccupied with you. He took no notice of you initially; you were a pretty, quiet thing who kept to yourself and did your work well. In other words, you were nothing special. The first time you caught his attention though, was when you accidentally killed the single plant he was fond enough of to let it continue growing in his office. It was a gift from an eccentric uncle, one he grumbled about to his mother but grudgingly accepted out of respect for his elder. He grew used to seeing the plant every day he was in his office however, and was somewhat sorry to see it meet its end at your hands. But, he digressed. He was enchanted by the panicked apology delivered by your soft English accented voice, and you were nearly in tears as you tried to charm the plant back to life, obviously to no avail. No spell could bring back the dead. Just as you were about to hyperventilate out of embarrassment and fear ( _somewhat misplaced, he thought, a little miffed_ ), he sat you down and made you drink a sip of brandy. Having slightly calmed down, you took a deep breath and offered a mumbled apology, waiting for the worst, that you’d be fired. He surprised you however, by just chuckling and patting your hand gently, after which he calmly explained that no you weren’t fired and you needed to be careful in the future, lest you hurt your pretty self. You had blushed prettily then, and Percival Graves was a doomed man from that day onward.

* * *

You were working late into the evening one day, preparing for an important briefing Percival would be chairing the next day. You had been buried under extra workload today, with one of the other clerks in the department being absent, and by the time you had time to start on the presentation for the briefing, everyone had already started packing up for home. You didn’t mind not being able to go home late; you had no family in New York, and you were far too dedicated to your work to have made friends outside of work. The only people still in the building were probably only yourself and Percival. Speaking of which, you hadn’t heard any sounds from his office, which made you worry a little. Surely he was all right and not passed out from exhaustion? He did look particularly worn out today, and he had been out of the office all day, meeting with the President and several other wizarding delegates regarding Gellert Grindelwald. Your hand on his door knob, you debated between entering his office ( _without his permission,_ your mind screamed) to check on him or to just leave him be. You were just about to turn the knob when the door opened unexpectedly and you were met with a _very_ solid wall of chest, and a _very_ attractive scent given out by a _very_ masculine man who just so happened to be your boss. Your very tired, but still handsome boss.

He had rolled his white shirt sleeves up to his elbows, and you swallowed at the sight of his muscular arms. Your gaze slowly travelled upwards, up to the partially unbuttoned shirt that exposed part of his chest, to the light stubble covering his strong jaw, to his rumpled hair and his dark eyes. Your mouth opened in a slight gape, either to sputter an excuse for disturbing him or because you were stunned by how _gorgeously_ dishevelled he was. Whatever you were about to say or do however, was completely swept under the rug when you found someone’s lips, _his_ lips, on yours. And like the doofus you were, you passed out.

Percival blinked and stared at you disbelievingly when he felt you go lax in his hold. You had passed out. When he was kissing you. That certainly was a first. Shaking his head fondly at you, he carried you into his office and laid you down gently on the sofa whilst he waited for you to gain consciousness. He didn’t have to wait long. Midway through reading the final report on his desk, he heard you moan and he walked over to you as you slowly sat up. He knelt before you, and cupping your still surprised visage, pressed another kiss on you. You thanked the heavens that you didn’t pass out this time because then you would have missed out on the wonderful, blissful sensation of being kissed by Percival Graves, the man you have been fiercely attracted for so long. His hands were soft on your face, and his breath warmed you to the tips of your toes, and as you wound your fingers in his dark hair, you marveled at the softness of the strands and _oh_ , the delightful sensation of him nipping your bottom lip made you tremble. The both of you simultaneously sighed as the kiss was broken, and he rested his forehead against yours, a strand of hair falling endearingly to his eyes. He smiled boyishly at you, and you wondered how many hearts he’s broken throughout his years, the devilish charmer. You couldn’t care less though; whatever you had with Percival was new and young, and while you couldn’t say you didn’t hope for something more in the future, any previous dalliances he might have had didn’t matter. Of course, you wondered just why he decided you were what he wanted, for now, when he could so easily have the most enchanting and lovely women in the world. But as he drew you into another kiss, whispering his desire to court you, it didn’t quite matter. You were his and he was yours for now, and you were satisfied with how things stood as of now. You leaned deeper into his kiss and boldly suckled on his lip, eliciting a guttural moan from the man, but the moment was destroyed when you accidentally leaned forward a little too much and toppled onto him, sending the both of you onto the ground. You both groaned at the impact and he clicked his tongue at you as you buried your reddened face in his chest, mumbling that it was his fault you were so awkward around him. He rolled his eyes affectionately at you before dropping a kiss onto your head, some things never changed.


End file.
